


Forgiveness Is Divine But I'm An Earthly Thing

by Misterghostfrog



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Couch Cuddles, Fluff, Forgivness, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), that one's not really pertinent to the story I just felt like reminding everyone that he's ace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misterghostfrog/pseuds/Misterghostfrog
Summary: Jon and Martin have some conversations about forgiveness, and the things we do and do not owe our loved ones past and present.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	Forgiveness Is Divine But I'm An Earthly Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes 178-179 really did drag me out of my cave and force me to write More Fics huh.
> 
> In all seriousness, pls enjoy me Projecting My Issues onto these characters and exploring my feelings on these topics in between soft moments. It adds flavor.

Jon stares vacantly at the scrap of fabric that might once have been called a curtain resting haphazardly on the coffee table. He feels exhausted. Like someone took all the emotions he had left, scooped them out and dumped them somewhere. Leaving him weighted and hollow.

It had taken him off guard, just how hard the realization had hit him. Sure he’d known she was gone, from the moment he’d heard Basira’s voice over the phone. But there hadn’t been a moment where he’d really considered it. Not until he pulled that blasted curtain out from the knot of sheets that had formed in the linen closet and began running his thumb over the shoddy Daisy patterning lining the bottom.

It had thrown him back to a conversation he and Daisy had had barely a month ago. He’s not sure how it happened, but they had stumbled onto the topic of the worst gifts they had ever received, and Daisy admitted she wasn’t actually a fan of Daisies. She liked the idea of them, the sweet sunshiny association, but the flower itself was sort of underwhelming, not enough color, she’d said. That never stopped people from getting her things with Daisies on them though. She’d told him about how the gifts usually ended up shoved in cupboards or stuck in storage. Only pulled out when she needed to make a show of using the them for the giver, or used as a backup when something else breaks or is ruined until she can replace the item in question with something with a different pattern.

The thought had been something of a fond memory, a quiet respite amid the louder chaos of the archives. And looking at that curtain the thought had suddenly hit him that it would never happen again. 

He knows he scared Martin when he’d curled over that little piece of scrap fabric, clinging to it like a child. But once he’d started the tears he found he just couldn’t stop. Like a dam had finally broken and he was drowning in the feelings stuck behind it. Unable to so much as speak between the choked gasping sobs.

Martins arms are wrapped solidly around him now as he leans back against the arm of the couch. His legs are draped across the cushions, he’d positioned the two of them so Jon was curled up in his lap, leaning against his chest. He’d sat with him this whole time, while Jon cried. Patiently waiting until he’d gathered himself.

For what feels like the hundredth time since they’ve settled in the safehouse, Jon wonders how he could ever have not appreciated Martin for everything he does- and is.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs hoarsely. Turning his head slightly, breaking his staring contest with the scrap fabric on the coffee table to bury his face in Martin's chest. 

“Jon- Don’t be. it’s fine. We’ve sort-of been through a lot lately, I think you’ve earned a good cry.” Martin says, carding his fingers through Jons hair. 

“Thank you... I just-” Jon takes a shaky breath “I suppose the fact that she’s gone didn’t really... hit me. Until now.”

Martin pauses.

“Who- you mean Daisy?” He asks

“I- yes. She was- we were-”  _ Friends _ he trips on the word. They’d never really said it, that they were friends. But that’s what they were. As much as they could be considering the circumstances. “-close. After- after the buried.”

There’s a pause, and Jon glances upwards at Martins face. His eyebrows are knit close and his lips pressed together in an expression Jon doesn’t quite have the energy to decipher.

“What?”

“Didn’t she, y’know, kidnap you? Throw you in a trunk with-”

“Yes.” Jon cuts him off, the memory of Daisy throwing him into the back of her car alongside a corpse sits at the back of his mind like a threat “She did.”

“Sorry- sorry. I just... I guess I know you two were friends but... I guess I find it hard to believe you just... forgave her? Just like that?” Jon can hear the way his voice pitches up in offence at the end of the sentence, always quick to defend Jons honour. He huffs.

“I didn’t, actually.”

Martin pauses.

“I thought you said you were close.”

“Yes, well. That doesn’t mean I forgave her for what she did- if I had to forgive everyone who's ever hurt me to care about them my life would have been significantly lonelier I think- And she... she didn’t expect me to.” He runs his finger idly over a loose thread of Martins Jumper “I don’t think we could have been friends if she had. And- I think she knew that. And besides that I know she knew that she- she didn't have the right to expect- or even ask me to forgive her.” 

“Oh”

“And it doesn’t mean I cared about her any less. It just- it just meant our relationship was more... complicated. And despite that I think...” He chuckles wryly “I think I could probably say with reasonable confidence that she was my best friend.” he tries for another laugh, but it comes out wobbly and far too close to a sob as tears he didn’t even know he had left in him threaten to fall.

“I’m sorry, Jon” Martin says softly. Squeezing his shoulder gently with the hand that isn’t still running through his hair. “But... I mean- she’s not completely gone, is she? I mean you said yourself she’s still alive so-”

“No.” Jon says softly. “I mean, she is alive. That much is true, but... She gave into the hunt. She had been fighting it for a long time and... she had to make a choice. The hunt or her humanity, and she chose the hunt. She- she chose it to keep us safe but- well. Intent doesn’t really translate that well when it comes to eldritch fear monsters. So technically she is alive. But... what’s left of her- its not Daisy. Not anymore. She’s gone.”

“Oh.” Martin's voice sounds terribly small. Jon feels awful for dashing his hopes- even though they weren’t even his hopes to begin with. He’d only said that to make Jon feel better. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s-” It’s not fine, so he doesn’t let himself say it is “It is what it is, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a silence then, as both their eyes drift to the curtain. Jon knows Martin likely doesn’t have many- if any, pleasant memories of Daisy. But the mere act of trying to understand her importance to Jon is far more significant than he knows.

In the absence of tears and memories he finds his eyelids drifting shut without his permission. There’s more to be said of course, more to talk about and more to feel. But the consequences of such an exhausting exercise in emotion weighs heavily on him, and for once, he thinks he can indulge in the luxury of rest. So he allows himself to just be wrapped up there for a moment. Exhausted but nonetheless safe. 

  
  


* * *

Neither of them sleep well in the safehouse. It’s hardly a surprise, between the cacophony of horrors they’ve both faced over the past few years it’s really a shock they sleep at all. But that doesn’t make the long silent hours of the night when they’re both pretending to sleep for the others benefit any less grueling.

Martin isn’t sure if Jon knows just how little he sleeps, he lies still and quiet well enough. Partly in hopes that Jon will get some rest himself, and partly because he thinks that maybe if he acts like he’s asleep his brain will get the message.

It’s easy to tell when Jon is awake though, he thinks he’s being subtle. But he’s a terrible liar, and a worse actor. And he doesn't know that when he's really asleep he's still as the dead unless you try to move him, at which point he’ll cling as tight as he can to whatevers closest. Which is usually Martin nowadays. So Martin knows he’s not waking him when he speaks quietly into the darkness.

“Have I ever told you about my mum?” His voice is low, just above a whisper even though it’s just the two of them.

Jon tenses in his arms, he likely hadn’t even realized Martin was awake. 

He knows in theory this is hardly the best time for the conversation, but it’s harder to sort good choices from bad so late at night. When it’s practically morning and his head is so fogged with sleeplessness someone could tell him he’s dreaming and he’d believe them.

“I- no. You haven’t” Jons voice is quietly bewildered, the volume matching Martin’s own tone. “I mean, I know you dropped out to take care of her, but that’s it.”

Martin humms vacantly, resting his forehead against the crown of Jon's head. Jon has both legs wrapped around one of Martins own, one arm slung over his middle and the other pressed between them. It’s nice, he’s not sure he would be able to deal with the sleepless nights if it wasn’t for Jon curled around him like some sort of affectionate snake. And now the warm contact gives him the courage to continue speaking, to let the words jumble out as they may.

“She... she never liked me y’know. I tried. I really did but- she got... it wasn’t her fault. My dad- he left, when she got diagnosed. And a-apparently I look just like him. And she... she didn’t like the reminder. A-and it made her say- say things. I suppose.” He takes a shaky breath “But I keep- I keep thinking about what you said about Daisy, h-how you don’t have to forgive someone to care about them...“

He pauses, Jon doesn’t respond. Running his thumb over Martins shoulder blade, waiting. 

“is it- is it bad if I can’t forgive my mum?” His voice sounds so small in his own ears. Jon pushes his head further into Martins chest, and sighs.

“You do realize i’d be something of a hypocrite if I said it was” He says quietly.

“Yea but, I mean... Daisy was different, wasn’t she? I-I mean- it wasn’t her fault what she did, all that stuff she said. She was- she was hurting. She didn’t-” He stops as Jon shifts, pulling his head back and unwrapping his arms from Martins chest, bringing his hands up to cup Martins face. Gently guiding his head until he’s looking Jon in the eye.

“Martin- that’s not...you could probably make the same arguments for Daisy. That she didn’t know what she was doing, she didn’t mean to hurt people. But that doesn’t change the fact that she did.” He says seriously.“You don’t owe her your forgiveness. Not if she hurt you.”

“But... she was my mum, Jon.”

There’s a pause, Jon runs his thumb over Martins jawline. Martin can barely make out his expression in the faint moonlight. But he can tell he’s thinking.

“Did I ever tell you I was raised by my grandmother?” He says softly after a long pause.

“No, you didn’t”

“Yes, well. My parents died... when I was very young. And she was the only living relative I had left. And while she did her best... well, it was clear she didn’t exactly- she was done raising children. And having one dropped in her lap wasn’t really in her retirement plan. She tried to hide it of course, but... I knew I wasn’t wanted.” He sighs “and that... was damaging. I think. And led to some things that... that weren’t her fault, but I still- it still hurts. I did love her, though. But I can’t forgive her for some of the mistakes she made in raising me. Intentional or not.”

“Oh, Jon...”

“You don’t owe your Mother your forgiveness, Martin. It doesn’t make you- ungrateful or bad to not forgive her. It just means she did things you can’t just, let go of. I-if that makes sense.”

“I... Yeah. I think- it does. Yeah.” 

There’s a silence, and Martin takes a moment to process the words. He’s not sure if he can use them yet, he never realized how much time he’s spent trying to force himself to forgive his mother for... everything. He knows it’ll be a hard habit to break. But for now, he lets them sit comfortably in his chest. Curling back around Jon, who sighs into his shirt.

“Thank you, Jon.” He says softly.

“Of course.”

He wishes he could say they both drifted off into an easy sleep after that, but the sleeplessness holds fast until the sun is nearly up. And they find themselves stumbling around the kitchen like every morning, sleep deprived and clumsy. The night's conversation not entirely forgotten, but unimportant in the face of breakfast. 

There’s more to talk about of course, there always will be. He thinks. But for now it’s enough to just be there, together in that cramped barely-functional kitchen. Simply enjoying each others presence.

Always. It’s a thought that hasn’t occurred to him before, but now. Even as sleep deprived and clumsy and miserable as they are in the cramped house. They’re together. And it feels like something they could have. An always. Maybe not here, but together all the same.

Martin watches Jon curse as the milk he pours into his cereal hits the spoon and ricochets onto his shirt. Soaking through even as he tries to wipe it off with his sleeve.

Always has never seemed so promising.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr! It's over here!
> 
> https://misterghostfrog.tumblr.com/


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